The Curse of Greg

by Chris Rylander

  Stoney nodded and then dropped his head.

  “I’m so sorry, Stoney,” I said.

  “STONEY RELIEVED HEREDITARY RELATIONS AB- SENT,” he said. “DOMESTIC SOVEREIGNTY INTACT.”

  I nodded—he was glad they were gone so they never had to be imprisoned like he had.

  “Well, I have some bad news,” I said. “I can’t get them to unlock your room. Yet. But to show you I meant what I said back in the forest, I will stay in here with you until you have the freedom to leave. I don’t want you to feel like a prisoner.”

  “GREG,” Stoney said solemnly.

  His head twitched several times like he was having a seizure.

  “What’s wrong, Stoney?” Ari asked.

  “GREG,” he said again, mashing his block fingers into his deep eye sockets.

  “I think he’s crying, Greg,” Ari whispered to me.

  “GREG COMPASSION,” Stoney said, his voice strained. “NO PRECEDING MUNIFICENT DEMONSTRATIONS.”

  I breathed out, my heart aching. If you’d asked me several months ago when this beast was charging at me inside the former Hancock building, aiming to squash me into oblivion, I never would have predicted this was where we’d end up. Me struggling to not cry (and remember: Dwarves never cry), while he openly wept because me staying with him was the kindest only kind thing anyone had done for him since he was taken from his family all those years ago.

  “It’s okay, Stoney,” I said. “It’s the right thing to do. I made a promise, after all.”

  “STONEY GRATITUDE!” he gushed, then wrapped me in a Troll hug.

  “Stoney, no!” Ari and I both started, but it was too late.

  I was already in his grasp being very painfully thanked. And if it weren’t for my strong Dwarven bones, I would be nothing more than a pile of Greg jelly right now. But eventually he put me down and I gasped and wheezed to catch my breath.

  “I did bring you a present, though,” I finally was able to say.

  From my backpack, I dug out a large geode my dad had brought me once after one of his magic-hunting trips. It was half a sphere, roughly the size of half a basketball. Rounded sedimentary rock on one side and in the middle where it’d been cut in half was a dazzling display of aqua and purple crystalized minerals. Geodes were relatively common and so I figured Stoney might not find it that impressive. But perhaps the fact that it was a gift from a new friend made it interesting to him no matter what it was, because he lunged forward and snatched it from my hand.

  “GREG!” he gushed, looking at the geode, which in his hand was, relatively, the size of a golf ball. “RESPLENDENTLY LUSTROUS! CRYPTOCRYSTALLINE QUARTZ SHELL! EPICENTER MINERALS AMALGAMATED TRICOLOR SMITHSONITE!”

  Stoney thanked me with another mercifully brief Troll hug and then sat in the corner examining the geode like it was a suspense novel just getting to the good part.

  Ari grinned at me.

  “That was nice of you,” she said.

  “My dad gave me that after one of his trips four years ago,” I said. “He’d been in Romania searching for Galdervatn back when everyone thought he was a lunatic conspiracy theorist just wasting his time. Of course I didn’t know that back then. I thought he was a lunatic tea and soap maker hunting for weird ingredients, still just wasting his time.”

  “But he wasn’t,” Ari said.

  “I know that now,” I said. “But back then I really resented him for being gone so much. So when he brought back souvenirs like that geode, I used to thank him half-heartedly and then just throw them into the back of my closet.”

  I sat down on the floor and sighed into my hands, shaking my head.

  “I’m sure he knew you still appreciated the presents,” she said.

  “But I didn’t,” I said. “At least, I didn’t think I did. Mostly I was just happy he was home so I could spend time with him and play chess. But when he was abducted a few months ago and Fynric gave me just ten minutes to pack up my things, I . . . well, the first thing I grabbed was an armful of all the junk he’d brought back from his trips, still buried in the back of my closet.”

  Ari smiled thinly at me and nodded. Then she sat next to me, our backs to the damp stone wall.

  “You’re really worried about him, aren’t you?” she asked.

  I glanced up at her and then over to Stoney, who was still in the corner examining the geode as if he and it were the only two things that existed.

  “I am,” I admitted.

  I told her about his most recent episode and how I was now more determined than ever to find a way to fix him. But then I had to admit I didn’t know how to even start.

  “I mean,” I continued, “my one link to the Elves was Edwin. But even if I knew where he was, he’d probably just as soon skewer me with his sword than listen to anything I had to say. Let alone the laughable idea that he might try to help me out.”

  “You never know,” Ari said.

  “You didn’t see the look on his face last time I saw him,” I said. “Pure hatred.”

  “Hate comes and goes as quickly as thunderstorms in Chicago,” she said. “I used to hate my dad every time he tried to force me to eat meat at dinner, and then would send me to my room hungry when I refused. But then once I was alone in my room and had calmed down some, I always realized he only wanted what he thought was right for me even though he was still wrong. And then the hate softened. It became something else, something more manageable. And even when I thought I truly hated him, I still always loved him beneath it all.”

  I nodded slowly.

  I knew she had had a rough relationship with her dad. He was a Traditional Dwarf. He didn’t like the idea that his daughter might have radical new ideas or that she might not think the way Dwarves were supposed to think.

  “But not eating meat and someone thinking you killed their parents are pretty different,” I said. “Even for a Dwarf.”

  “True,” she agreed. “But let me remind you: Edwin did tell you where to find the poison antidote, right? Even right at the moment when you thought he hated you most?”

  I nodded.

  “And nobody made him?”

  “Well . . . no,” I said.

  “Then why else would he have done that?” she said. “If he didn’t still love you as a friend deep down?”

  I opened my mouth to disagree. To say that no way could he still have had any goodwill toward me while staring at me with such fury and disgust. But I didn’t say that because I realized it was possible, however remotely, that Ari was right.

  That if I could somehow find Edwin, it was conceivable he would still help me fix my dad.

  CHAPTER 15

  Stoney: Master Linguist

  The next twelve hours alone with Stoney were more interesting than I expected.

  Well, we both slept for at least six of them (it was hard to sleep for much more than that on a hard stone floor). But after Ari left to go home and before we fell asleep, Stoney and I spent a shocking amount of time talking. And the conversation was far from boring in spite of his stilted, yet multifarious (a word I learned from him), English.

  For one, English was actually Stoney’s fifteenth (!!!!) language. He spoke Vietnamese much more naturally, which I had to admit sounded both awesome and hilarious in his deep, gravelly voice. He also fluently spoke ancient Elven, Fairy (an old, pretty language called Gaeaellicaa), French, German, two versions of Mandarin/Chinese, five different Troll dialects (Mountain, River, Lowland, Forest, and of course Rock), and a touch of both Orcish and Goblinese. He even spoke some of his native Rock Troll language for me, which to my ear sounded like stones and gravel grinding together. But just the same, it was still strangely eloquent and complex. Stoney claimed that Rock Troll was one of the most efficient, emotionally adaptive (whatever that meant) languages in existence.

  Furthermore, Stoney actually did like talking
about things other than rocks. Sometimes, anyway, since he still found a way to work them into every conversation somehow or other. But more than that, Stoney simply had a lot to say. He knew a lot. About the Elves especially. Which, in light of the conversation I’d just had with Ari, piqued my interest quite a bit.

  I mean, I still didn’t have fanciful visions of tracking down Edwin and then dude-hugging (complete with multiple back slaps) in a green pasture with a rainbow in the background and butterflies dancing around our heads with him tearing up and telling me exactly what was wrong with my dad and then even offering to personally help me fix it. I knew chances of that were virtually zero.

  However, I couldn’t deny that he was still my best hope, among the Elves, of finding out the truth. He was the only one I could conceivably imagine might help me. And so until some other idea magically appeared, locating Edwin was my first step to solving my dad’s problem. Plus, as much as I didn’t want to admit it, I also wanted to find Edwin just to see him again. To know that he was okay.

  Stoney was the one who first brought up the Elves and his captivity. He told me he had spent most of the last two decades locked away in a dungeon. Being trained like a dog to be obedient to his “ELVEN POTENTATES.” The few times he ever saw the light of day it was almost always only to do bad things—usually violent things—for his captors. His forced “OBLIGATIONS” spanned the globe. Turned out Stoney had already seen a lot more of the world than I had, even as a prisoner. Not that I envied him, considering the circumstances of his many travels (which he said often occurred down in the dark, wet cargo holds of commercial freighter ships).

  But Stoney had not actually been beaten into submission. It was all an act. He’d merely been pretending to be obedient all those years, biding his time, hoping to avoid further torture while he waited for the right moment to escape.

  That’s when Stoney revealed the first of two shocking truths:

  He hadn’t taken out the Elf Lord by mistake that night. He’d done it on purpose. In the chaos of the battle, he’d spotted his chance to finally neutralize his biggest tormenter of all: Locien Aldaron, Edwin’s dad and the Elf Lord. And even though you could argue Aldaron had it coming, Stoney still felt a lot of remorse over the whole thing. And I fully understood where he was coming from, because it was something I hadn’t gotten over yet myself, even though my role in his death was obviously less significant than Stoney’s.

  “NIGHTMARE,” he said somberly. “STONEY DREAMS CEASELESSLY TRAUMATIC. STONEY LOATHE FATAL UNDERTAKINGS.”

  I nodded sympathetically.

  He then went on to say that in the chaos of the Elves losing all their leaders, he still hadn’t gotten away like he’d hoped. Locien’s generals quickly apprehended him and punished him severely for being so “careless” during battle. A few days later he was shipped off to a secret Elven base in New Orleans. There, a new leader of an Elven group emerged. And they were planning something big. Something terrible. Stoney kept repeating the words “VILLAINOUS LEGION” over and over again.

  “UNMITIGATED MORTALITY,” Stoney said when I asked him to elaborate. “UNIVERSAL ANNIHILATION.”

  “How soon might this happen?” I asked.

  “TWO FORTNIGHTS,” Stoney said darkly. “SPECULA-TIONS INSINUATE. PERCHANCE THREE.”

  Four weeks? Six at most? According to Stoney, the Elven faction in New Orleans was possibly just one month from executing a plan that might lead to a deadly global catastrophe. My stomach turned sideways as I asked him more questions.

  But it was hard to get any more details, because Stoney admitted he didn’t really know much more himself. He had still been just a prisoner, not a trusted Elven co-conspirator. His days in New Orleans were mostly spent in a dark dungeon with other prisoners. Much of what he learned was mere hearsay from other captives. In fact, once he was transported to New Orleans, it was almost as if he and the other inmates were largely forgotten. It wasn’t until the guards simply stopped feeding them one day (which eventually turned into a whole week without food), that they devised an escape plan out of pure desperation, fearing they would otherwise starve to death.

  But regardless, Stoney was sure whatever this new Elven sect was planning would have terrible consequences for the rest of us—Humans, Dwarves, Trolls, and all the other newly emerging creatures alike.

  “Edwin Aldaron,” I finally said. “Do you know or remember him? Locien’s son?”

  Stoney shook his head emphatically.

  Which, despite my obvious frustration at not getting any leads, was also oddly comforting since it backed up Edwin’s story that he truly hadn’t known the depths of his parents’ unsavory activities (such as abducting my dad and holding him prisoner).

  “So you don’t know if he’s the leader of this new Elven faction in New Orleans?”

  “UNKNOWN,” Stoney agreed. “COMMANDER ANONY-MOUS. SPECULATIONS INSINUATE ADOLESCENCE.”

  My breath caught in my throat.

  So it was certainly at least possible it was Edwin. Part of me still desperately hoped it wasn’t if what Stoney said about these Elves’ plans were true. It was hard to imagine Edwin organizing anything that would lead to universal annihilation, as Stoney had put it.

  I sighed.

  “GREG ANXIOUS FATHER’S NEUROSIS?” Stoney said suddenly.

  My head snapped up. He peered down at me, those pure black eyes somehow conveying concern, empathy, and hope.

  “You were listening to me and Ari earlier?” I asked.

  Stoney nodded. “GREG TROUBLED.”

  “Yeah, you could say that,” I said. “And the real problem is that I have no idea how to go about fixing it.”

  That’s when Stoney revealed his second shocking truth:

  “STONEY RECOGNIZE AILMENT,” he said calmly. “STONEY ASSIST.”

  CHAPTER 16

  That Time When Dwarves Continue to Be Dwarves

  Ari showed up around noon the next day to hang out with Stoney so I could go to the afternoon Council Session.

  I had to attend for two reasons:

  I needed to see what happened with Stoney’s MPM case. Would Eagan somehow convince them to unlock Stoney’s chambers so he didn’t feel like a prisoner and thus also help me keep a promise?

  I needed to convince the Council to send me and a small army to New Orleans both to save my dad and save the world, not necessarily in that order.

  Of course, while most Sessions were open to the Dwarven public, it wasn’t commonplace to allow just anyone who showed up to speak in front of the Council and the Elders. There were procedures for that sort of thing—you had to sign up for a designated special Session if you wanted to introduce a new topic on the floor. Special Sessions happened only every two weeks.

  But, luckily for me, my dad was not only an Elder, but a legendary celebrity Elder. Plus my good friend was now a Council member. And I had a much more personal relationship with Dunmor, the Council Alderman, than most Dwarves. The point is: these are the types of special details that grant you exceptions to rules.

  And so I stood before the Council and the Elders and did my thing:

  I passionately explained (part of) what Stoney had told me: that there was a new faction of Elves in New Orleans amassing an army. Planning something terrible. And although we didn’t know exactly what that was, Stoney was certain it would bring death and destruction to all of us. I finished by imploring them to send a small squad of Dwarven soldiers (me included) down to New Orleans to investigate. In the end, I thought I stated my case pretty well. And I stood there waiting for murmurs of panic, cries of desperation, and calls for immediate action.

  “So what?” Elder Dhon Dragonbelly said after I was finished, breaking the short, potent silence. “Elves are always up to nefarious things. Why should this report be any different from all the others?”

  “All the others?” I asked weakl
y.

  “Yeah, you don’t actually think this is the first story like this we’ve gotten, do you?” Elder Ooj (and lone Leprechaun Council member) asked incredulously.

  “I—well—I mean—” I started. The truth was that I had sort of thought that.

  Laughter erupted throughout the Assembly Hall. Dunmor quickly banged down his huge stone gavel and silenced the room.

  “Greg,” Dunmor explained patiently. “We get dozens of reports every week of various Elven factions up to no good all across the planet. We certainly do our best to investigate them all, and take them seriously, but it’s a numbers game. Most of the reports don’t really amount to much more than a group of Elves devising an unethical hedge fund scam or some other nonsense. Hardly the things we can worry about right now, given the sorts of dangers all the recent monster sightings pose.”

  Of course I could have told them the real reason I was so desperate to go to New Orleans: because I suspected the answer to what was wrong with my dad was there. I was eager to capture one of the Elves there and make them tell me what was wrong with my dad, by any means necessary (that part had been the Bloodletter’s idea).

  Maybe it would help to tell you everything Stoney had told me the night before, which unfortunately wasn’t as much as I’d hoped for:

  He claimed he’d seen my dad’s described symptoms before. When he was a prisoner in New Orleans, a fellow inmate (an Elf, surprisingly enough—one considered an enemy of the faction for some reason) developed nearly the same symptoms after a few weeks in captivity. Unfortunately, Stoney didn’t know if the condition was reversible, but he was sure the Elves were responsible. Before he went mad, this fellow prisoner Elf revealed that their captors had given him some kind of poison, perhaps were even testing it on him. If that were true, it certainly stood to reason that if these Elves knew how to induce the symptoms, they might know how to fix the condition. Of course, the thought that it could possibly be Edwin leading this group also didn’t exactly hurt my desire to get down there and investigate.